


Wolf Hunt

by BubblegumCannibal



Series: Sins of the Stars [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblegumCannibal/pseuds/BubblegumCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwatch is purging itself. Deadlock wants him dead. Talon wants to join in to tackle the situation just because he was the one on the wrong end of the stick... but how does it feel to know a wolf is your savior when he announces himself as "No one?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this headcanon for a long time, but I would very much like to thank Meltybot for their [Image](http://meltybot.tumblr.com/post/149446024871) that inspired me to write this. Though our headcanons are different (to a point ish), you still deserve the credit and I thank you so much for allowing me to piggy back on your "Hermit Forest Prince" Hanzo. Because lbr, he is. He is definitely a forest prince.
> 
> A lot of this was fairly difficult to place with in age range. So the two of them during this fic are still fairly young. This is Pre-Recall.

Everything about this mission was a lie.

An agent sent alone in a foreign country to find information about a terrorist organization without being caught just screamed that it’d be sketchy to him. Jesse McCree should have listened to his gut and enticed that idea of escape months ago, yet… he didn’t think they’d actually try and kill him by now. At least he wouldn’t die in some gutter like he thought he would when Deadlock fell.

He stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of Japan. He was a “southwestern dreamboat,” in his own personal opinion, with a drawl and sly smile that always seemed to cover the fact that he never quite had a silver tongue. Not like Morrison or Amari.

Talon was going to kill him. There was no doubt about that. Either he was going to bleed out from his gullet or he was going to be shot in the back – and neither thought made him any less afraid of the outcome, especially when one option wasn’t to off himself against one of these massive oaks. The cowboy is out of bullets to entertain that thought. Alas he stood against one, hunched over with a hand gripping at the black waistcoat he wore, but whatever gash lay deep at his side was now soaking into his ashen trousers.

He’s going to die. Jesse McCree is going to die in some no-named Japanese forest just because Overwatch wanted to  ** _purge_** Blackwatch from the inside, out.

Now on the ground he can hear the autumn leaves crunching beneath him as the breeze begins to kick up. Over the sound of his thudding heartbeat he can hear the leaves rustling and the sounds of movement around him. Jesse sighs into the blue scarf around his face and slides down deeper against the tree, getting as comfortable as he could. If he were to die there, at least he’d take in the beauty and die in silence.

The canopy left a gentle green and yellow glow that felt warm beneath its rays. With the sun in his face and the trees doing nothing to cover the little hole, he frowned. His hat disappeared somewhere in the scuffle back in town. As did his mask too. Would be nice to sit here in comfort with his hat over his face, taking in the nice weather…

Barking, that’s what yanked him free of his slipping thoughts. Through shallow breaths, it ached to sit up. His ribs throbbed and his back tensed as he forced himself to adjust back up into an upright position. Jesse groaned, hand still gripping at this leaking wound, but froze at the cold steel pressed against his scalp. No way to escape. No flashbangs to blind his enemy. No strength to get back up.

‘ _This is it,_ ’ he thinks to himself, whiskey hues closing at the sound of the gun cocking into place, ‘ _dead man for sure, this time…_ ’ And he braces as the sounds of barking grows closer. Jesse holds his breath, awaiting anxiously for that one shot to end it all.

                                               And…

                                                                                ** _BANG!_**

A deafening crack rings his ears, but there is no pain. Slowly an eye opens and a mutt pants before him, fur stained with red as it whines and howls in pain before him. Another joins beside it, its snout nudging at the hurt wolf sadly before being shooed back by another figure, shorter than the men chasing him, but stocky like the rest. The figure, clad in a fur hood and rather  _outrageous_ puffy pants gave a sharp whistle and a gesture unseen from the blur in his eyes.

 

He was slipping and couldn’t even thank the stranger properly. However, through his mumbled ‘thank you’s’ and slurred speech, McCree could feel that ache on his body strain once the other lifted him with ease over his shoulder. Whatever had been following him—more so  _whomever_ —was laid out flat with an arrow jetting from his eye socket. Either this stranger knew he’d be there, or Talon was looking for them both.

 

* * *

 

This pillow is mighty soft and nothing like the shitty thing that graced his tiny bed back at headquarters—no down feather jabbing him in the face and it smelled  _clean._ The sharpshooter groans against the pillow, pulling it closer to him to rub his nose against the soft cushion, taking in the scent as if it were something familiar to him. However, it was… but not in the “clean” sense of the word.

It brought him up to rest on his arms, bandaids and wraps covering little wounds and scratches all down his arms and the one at his waist neatly covered in bandages decorated in little flowers and cute faces. He’d scoff at the design, honestly. It looked almost like something someone snatched out of a child’s “Let’s play Doctor” bag.

…But where was he?

This was no cabin in the woods or the Japanese have one hell of an idea of what a  _cabin_ really is. The room is far too spacious for a general room with just one bed. Towards the door sat a bal of white fluff, eying him from the floor in curiosity—a dog perhaps? Maybe a husky? Can’t tell, he’s still a bit in a dizzying trance. There’s an oak table towards the middle of the room, small close to the floor surrounded by squared, black pillows atop another mat. Yet what eventually caught his eye was that armor that he glimpsed within his dreams— _the wolf._ Resting on a mannequin, it stood tall in the furthest corner facing him directly. White wolf hood, fur well taken care of—was it real? Or fake? But the body armor matched it, all white with black trousers and a set of silver boots messily (in comparison to the suit) on the floor. It’s a beautiful outfit, from what he could see.

 

He could take that armor, but what good would it do if he could not fit it? His mind wandered, scanning the room, hoping to find another set of doors (perhaps one for a bathroom) and his own slacks. Though no bathroom, the mat he lay on held his clothing folded and washed at the edge with a new shirt and waistcoat gracing the top with a little message on top:

 _シャツを修正することができませんでした。新しいものを買いました。_ :) _*_

Adorned on the small message was a few inked flowers and stars and small smiley face off in a corner. It was almost relaxing to see, but it’d be better if he could  _read_ it. Then again, at least he could say his Japanese was rusty, but Kanji just wasn’t his thing. People see him as a simpleton, a man who can’t tie his shoes, let alone hold a gun properly, but he’s only twenty-eight with the knowledge of three, maybe four and a half languages behind him. He’s not a complete idiot—unless Morrison had anything to say about it.

 

Sitting up was a hassle that brought a scurry of fur to his side.  _Ain’t a dog. Too big to be a dog._ Still that didn’t halt him to run skinny fingers through the soft fur of the friendly beast beside him as it rest its head upon his lap. The wolf grumbled and gave a soft bark as it craned its head into the hand scratching at its ear. Where ever he was, at least it was friendly… or that’s what he was hoping. A part of him wanted to get up and get dressed to keep moving and make it back to the city so he can flee properly, but… Overwatch doesn’t know exactly  _where_ he is in Japan. Jesse could take this moment to escape and run off into some country side where no one knew his name, face, or language. A farm in Spain would be nice.

Before Jesse knows it, he’s talking to the mutt as if it understands him. “I could run far an’ they’d know nothin’ of what happen to ol’Jesse McCree. Shame y’ master wouldn’t get a proper thank ya from me.”

“—And why not?”

The reply spooked him, rose hairs on the back of his neck and sent his heart into a surprised flutter. In silence, he watched as a door slid open and another mutt trotted in beside him, wrapped in the same cutesy wraps he had been in. Attention drawn to the canine, they seemed to find a spot to themselves, curling up into a close ball of fur and puppy nuzzles that just felt right.

 _Partners in a pack._ Makes him miss what he had in the past; a partner who led a pack forcibly ripped away from him because Overwatch was sick and tired of Deadlock’s shit. Jesse sighed,  _should’ve followed behind his partner._

“Where am I?”

“Kyoto prefecture.”

“Who are ya?”

“No one.”

Jesse looked up from his tatami and watched the man set a small table with his back turned to him. Short, raven hair pulled up into a spiky ponytail and the back of his black haori was all he could see, but the voice was nothing he could pinpoint. From the gruffness of his accent, he knew English enough; it just still seemed rough for him. Good, really, made things easier for conversation.

“Now y’ ain’t  _no one,_ buddy. Y’ have to have a name–”

“—And you already know it, therefore I am no one.”

His expression sours with a grimace as he strains to get up. If anything, he was determined to put on his pants and button down before limping his way over to the table. All he could remember from the other night (or had it been longer?) was a man clad in that old samurai armor as if he were something out of an old anime. Either the man was a squatter and he just happened to get lucky and score someone who could help him without a second question or he was dead, still in that forest, and locked in some type of purgatory where his dream continued as if he had been saved by some type of Japanese samurai wolf god.

Instead, without holding on that thought for too long, he eased his way to the floor with a pop of his knees and a grunt. Here he could see the man’s profile—steel grey eyes with dark lines and bags beneath, a beard barely growing in and well maintained. Out of instinct, he tipped the man’s chin with one hand, fingers pulling the man’s head to face him and forcing eye contact with the other. Jesse’s heart skipped a beat. Familiar exhausted features on a face still as beautiful as he remembered just far more grief-stricken than it was when they split.

                                They should have never split…

“Hanzo, I–”

He shakes his head, pulling away, “I am no one.”

“Stop that. Why are you saying that you are  _no one?_ That’s bullshit, darlin’, and you know it.” Jesse’s brows knitted, “I ain’t seen ya in so long and  _this_ is how you treat me? No hug? No—no kiss?”

“Things have changed. You left. I… had to re-evaluate myself.”

“By hidin’ out in the wilderness? What are y’ doin’ out here? You have something to go back to–”

“— ** _Not anymore._** ” He’s almost slammed the last bowl on the table with frustration. Six years and neither of them have gotten over what they’ve left behind. Six years and Hanzo’s still bitter about stepping down from his clan… but Jesse doesn’t need to know that. At least not in depth. “The Shimada-Kai is in ruins. I had to step down. I am here on my own business;  _you_ are the one brining the danger.”

Jesse can’t help but give the table a little shove, the liquids spinning and moving against their glasses, but never spilling over and the dishes clanking just a bit as they vibrated with the movement. Once a gap was made, he slips into the space between Hanzo and the table; hands against his cheeks—flesh against flesh.

Almost felt like heaven.

“What’s eatin’ ya? I ain’t ever seen you so frazzled, babe.” His nostrils flare, “I-I know I did y’ wrong… back in Santa Fe, but I did it for ya. I had to make sure y’ stayed alive if all went wrong with Deadlock. I shoulda been honest with ya… from the start. An’ here I am, like a kicked pooch on y’ doorstep, askin’ for you to just be real with me.”

A familiar stare eyeballed Jesse under ruffled brows. They weren’t boys anymore. They weren’t the lovesick boys they had been years prior—they were men now. Tired men who just wanted a break. “You first.”

“Admission time: I left with Blackwatch when they raided Deadlock as a deal. I told ya that I left for family, no… I just didn’t want ya to stop me. I didn’t want prison time and… y’ didn’t need me weighin’ y’ down.”

A warm feeling puddles itself at the base of his gullet once Hanzo’s fingers skim the top of his hands with dull nails and calloused fingers. Hanzo felt comforted here with the man he spent his days in America with all those years ago. He almost missed the frequent work trips back and forth. It gave him a reason to relax mentally and physically. It gave him a reason to smile—Jesse was always there awaiting anxiously for him.

Days like that have long gone and he’d wish not to dwell on unfortunate circumstances.

McCree huffs, pulling skinny fingers into his own then up to his mouth. Though it was small, it was something—an act of love still burning deep in his heart even with the heartbreak that lies within placed on pale, scarred hands in scattered kisses. He’s missed this man and he’s willing to run away from everything, even if it means staying at his side again.

Silence fell on the old cabin for a moment, McCree blissfully studying every last inch of Hanzo’s face as the other jerked his attention around, scanning the room with suspicion. Something was off. Ever since Jesse arrived, he could feel electricity in the air and hear the unnatural movements of guests within his part of the wood.

“What? Are you okay--”

Hanzo shushed him, fingers pressed against the cowboy’s lips, “Get dressed. _Now._ ”

Jesse stands with a wince and without a second word, he’s tackled to the floor as a sound whizzes just barely past the two of them, popping loudly against the old wood. Looking towards the door, he could see a small beam of light through the screen of the shoji. **_Snipers._** The agent curses under his breath, sliding away from Hanzo as he scurries towards the tatami for the rest of his clothing and armor as Hanzo did the same. Lower to the ground just felt safer, and if that’s what the yakuza lord is doing, he’s doing it too.

“Shit. **SHIT.** ” He’s got a revolver, but no bullets. What is he going to do with something he can’t even protect himself with?

However, a whistle beckons his attention and sliding his way comes not one or two small boxes, but four cartons of bullets and a stampede of mutts making their way from one room and into scattered directions out of the gap of the opened door.

“You need to leave. I will handle them and give you time to escape.”

“No, no, no, no.” Jesse shakes his head, reloading his gun, “I ain’t leavin’ you behind.” _Not again,_ at least.

“Do not worry of me,” he starts, yanking a bow from the mannequin’s body, “they are no better than what normally comes after me. _Please?_ ”

“ _Hanzo, no._ ”

Another shot splinters through wood, “ **Jesse.** ”

“I-I can’t leave y’ behind again.” Stupidity almost got him killed last time if it wasn’t for Overwatch. Deadlock has his head on a blacklist and Talon is gunning him down now. He’ll stand and fight before he runs off like a coward. “Don’t make me leave.”

Hood in his hand and weaponry strapped firmly to his back, Hanzo slid across the floor, feeling a bullet splinter the wood at his legs before tucking into the other side and out of sight. He huffs, removing the blue ribbon from his hair and shaking out the frayed strands as he messily ties the old silk to Jesse’s arm. With that same movement, he slips a hand behind the cowboy’s head, fingers laced in soft brown locks to pull him close for a breathless motion of a pithy kiss, “ ** _Now go, Cowman, GO._** ”

Voice caught in his throat, he whines a soft, pitiful noise, staggering to his feet and pushing towards the exit the wolves came from, “I’mma come back for y’, hear me? _Stay alive._ ”

Hood on, an arrow is shot. He can hear them coming—marching to his door like an army hell bent on succeeding their battle. “You have my word.”

Jesse’s gone and Hanzo’s waiting, listening for his pack to steer clear the best they can as whatever haunts a past lover grows closer to his home. Taking to a knee, an arrow nocked into its rest, the archer takes a breath to focus his shot. He had been out there for months, avoiding what he could of the public eye, learning how to better control what power had been bestowed to him. It was a cleanser of sorts. Something to reach far and destroy all.

Years ago, the sharpshooter had met a boy who could wield dragons that burned hotter than fire itself. He’s seen them up close, laying siege to enemies that demanded his and the leader of Deadlock’s head. For years he’s always wondered if he’d ever see them again and hear that song of a Dragon's roar.

_Okami yo, waga teki wo kurae!_

In the distance, Jesse McCree can hear a choir of wolves and it sounds beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> poor excuse of a japanese translation from google coming in:
> 
> *Could not fix shirt. Bought a new one.


End file.
